


rosy cheeks (i want to kiss)

by elareine



Series: JayTim Week 2021 [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Awkward Flirting, Canon-Typical Violence, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, Mention of Tim dating an OMC, Pining, Self Confidence Issues, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, almost lovers, for the mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 16:40:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30108921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elareine/pseuds/elareine
Summary: The ‘yes’ is on the tip of Jason’s tongue. He likes this—likes hanging out with Tim like they’re friends, likes the easiness between them, likes the other boy’s sharpness and dorky humor. It’s easy to say yes to Tim when it never is with anyone else in the family.His brain catches up with him just in time. “…dinner?”(Five times Jason and Tim almost got together, and the one time they did.)
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Series: JayTim Week 2021 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2212035
Comments: 18
Kudos: 149
Collections: JayTim Week 2021





	rosy cheeks (i want to kiss)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day three of JayTim week for the prompts "Rooftop Rendezvous" and "Size Difference," and finished with literal minutes to spare. This grew way beyond its original scope, and I hope y'all enjoy what it turned out to be :) 
> 
> I have a tumblr, where's there's [a fic giveaway happening right now](https://elareine.tumblr.com/post/645675773069590528/i-havent-really-done-anything-to-celebrate) in relation to this week, in case you're interested.

One

“Beautiful, huh?” 

“Eh. It’s still Gotham. A sunset can only do so much.” 

Tim laughs. “The endorphin high doesn’t go that far, huh?” 

“That was a sweet arrest,” Jason allows. “But not even punching the Penguin is enough to make me call Gotham’ beautiful.’” 

“Punching the Penguin. That should be a new arcade game.” 

“Don’t push it. Someone will take you seriously and use him as the actual punching bag.” 

“As if you wouldn’t be first in line.” 

“Alright, alright,” Jason laughs. “You got me there.” 

“I’d say I’ll be right behind you, but Babs might beat me to it,” Tim muses. 

“That makes me second in line. I’m not getting between O and someone she wants to punch.” 

Tim chuckles. Well, giggles, really. “Dick wouldn’t participate, but he would be cheering and politely reviving him between every punch.” 

“Careful, babybird, this is turning dark. Isn’t planning the public torture of one of your enemies against the batcode?” 

Tim shrugs. “A boy can have dreams.” 

“Hmm.” Jason waits a little bit before he continues, just for the dramatic effect. “The little terror would probably punch extra hard because Penguin dares use an animal moniker.” 

Tim dissolves into laughter next to him, and Jason grins, pleased. 

If you asked him just six months ago if he thought this would be happening one day—him sitting on a rooftop with his replacement, joking around after successfully working a case together—he’d have laughed in your face. Tim makes it easy, though. Maybe too easy, considering their beginnings, all those things Jason is never gonna apologize for… but easy. 

“Hey,” Tim says when he’s finally collected himself, “random question, but: if you were to ask someone out, how’d you do it?” 

“Like, a date?” Jason raises an eyebrow at Tim, who looks like he’s ready to squirm off the roof.

“Yeah.” 

“Pretty sure you’ve been on more of those than I have, Timmy.” 

“Yeah, but I never made the first step,” Tim admitted. 

Awww. Look who’s having a crush. Sometimes, teenagers can be adorable. 

(Yes, Jason is nineteen, just three years older than Tim. So what. He hasn’t been a teenager since he clawed his way out of that grave, and no-one has treated him as one since then, either.) 

“Just go for whatever you feel like. You got this, babybird.” Jason gives him a sincere smile, though it quickly transforms into an amused smirk. “Just don’t do what Dick did and ask your girl out while covered in fish guts.” 

“Ewwww.” 

“Yeah. I have no idea how that worked out in his favor. I dunno how much of their hot’n’heavy phase you got to witness, but…” 

“ _Ewwww_. Oh God, I’m never talking about this again.” Tim’s trying to sound annoyed; Jason can see the smile on his face, though, so that’s alright. “Anyway, wanna go grab dinner?” 

The ‘yes’ is on the tip of Jason’s tongue. He likes this—likes hanging out with Tim like they’re friends, likes the easiness between them, likes the other boy’s sharpness and dorky humor. It’s easy to say ‘yes to Tim when it never is with anyone else in the family. 

His brain catches up with him just in time. “…dinner?” 

“Yeah.” Tim flashes a nervous grin. “There’s a new Italian place that just opened up nearby that I thought you might like.” 

Jason can do nothing but blink at him for a long moment. That’s. That’s what they just talked about, isn’t it? He’s not hallucinating here? Tim is… asking him to dinner? Like—like a date? 

Tim looks back at him, a pink blush spreading across his face. 

He’s so young. Tim _can’t_ know what he’s doing. Jason’s trouble, always has been; he’s barely in control of himself half the time. He’s not saddling Tim with that. Even if it would just take one date or two for Tim to figure out that this isn’t what he wants, after all, to figure out just how fucked up Jason, to destroy everything they’ve built between them—Jason can’t do it. 

Not because he doesn’t want to. Jason hasn’t allowed himself to consider what _he_ wants for a while now, and it has improved his life big time. He’s not gonna selfishly stray from that path now. 

He looks back at Tim. “I…” 

They’re sitting too close. Suddenly, Jason is intensely aware of Tim’s shoulder pressing into his; the way their fingers are lying next to each other on the brick wall; how Tim’s face is looking up at him from a mere few inches apart, framed by the light of the setting sun. 

He looks beautiful, and that’s why Jason moves away. 

“I… have to follow up on another lead, sorry,” he hears himself say, and he’s proud of how steady he sounds. 

Tim visibly doesn’t buy it. He looks so crushed when he murmurs, “I understand,” that Jason almost takes it back—but no. He can’t. 

They sit on the rooftop in awkward silence until Jason leaves. 

Two 

“I’m sorry,” Tim murmurs as he fixes Jason’s tie. 

Jason raises an eyebrow. “What for?” 

“This is awkward.” Tim frowns, loosens the knot, tries again. He’s not looking at Jason, exactly. “Not everyone would agree to do this with another man, not when people are gonna remember, so… thanks for doing this for me, I guess is what I’m saying.” 

Which is very nice and all, but—“Tim, you know I’m gay, right?” 

The words do feel a bit strange. Jason hasn’t said it much. Or, uh, ever, now that he thinks about it. Roy and Kori know, but that conversation had consisted of the phrase “just dudes, honestly” and then explaining to Kori that calling everyone ’a little bit bi’ can be quite an invalidating response. Also, they all were drunk. So there was that. 

Tim, at least, looks suitably surprised. “Oh. I thought—but then—“ 

Right. Jason suppresses a wince. Stupid. _Stupid_ of him. Here he goes, hurting Tim again years after the fact. Even if the younger man surely has to be glad about Jason rejecting him two years ago, right? 

Neither of them seems to know what to say. 

Finally, Tim gets the tie right on the third try. Jason is pretty sure it doesn’t look any better than when Tim first started working on it; Tim seems nervous about this for some reason, though, so he’s content to let him buy time. 

The younger man takes a deep breath and looks up at Jason, smiling. “Ready?” 

“Fuck no,” Jason deadpans just to see that smile turn into a real one. “Let’s go, anyway.” 

Tim nods and, as they walk toward the door, takes his arm. 

Jason looks down at him and—huh. He didn’t realize that there’s still so much of a difference in their heights. Tim’s barely reaching his shoulder. Hmm. 

Still, Tim has no compunction about steering Jason toward the first socialite that greets them at the gala, asking her: “Have you met my partner?” 

“Jason. Nice to meet you.” 

Jason smiles at the woman even as he detangles his arm from Tim’s and slides it around his back, instead. It feels natural to pull him close, to have Jason’s hand resting on Tim’s hip; the gesture is not possessive, exactly, but it shows that they fit. That they belong together. 

They spent the next hour or so schmoozing, tightly pressed against each other, and Jason finds that it’s not hard at all to smile at strangers and tell them that they met while golfing (hah) and that he knew that Tim was The One right away (double-hah.) 

“Let’s get some food?” Tim eventually asks, voice low. 

Jason smiles. He knows that it’s full of affection, but that’s okay, right? They’re supposed to be convincing. “Of course, babybird.” 

There’s a soft sigh behind them. He hears a woman murmur: “Babybird…” 

“Who’d have thought that a Wayne would have something so genuine?” someone else replies. 

“Eighteen is the perfect age for a real love,” the first one agrees. “If my boyfriend back then would’ve called me ‘babybird,’ I probably would have married him.” 

Which. Is a weird thing to hear about the nickname he’s just naturally given Tim by the time they became friendly. Jason has been trying to inject tenderness into every utterance the whole evening, so maybe it’s that. 

…whatever. They’re convincing; that’s all that matters. 

Once they reach the dessert table, Jason takes a chocolate-covered strawberry—which, by the way, an _excellent_ choice for a buffet; Jason would really appreciate this shinding if they weren’t about to blow it—and holds it up to Tim’s mouth, murmuring: “Time to up the ante, huh.” 

Tim’s eyes are dark as he leans forward and takes the strawberry directly from Jason’s fingers, teeth gently scraping against his skin. There’s the discreet flicker of a tongue, so quick Jason might have imagined it, and then the strawberry is gone and there’s only Tim, staring up at him with red, red lips. 

Jason knows, suddenly, that if he kisses Tim, there will be no more hiding. 

So he doesn’t lean down. Instead, he blindly grabs a dish from the buffet (white chocolate mousse, it later turns out, and hoo boy will Jason never look at that the same way again) and steers Tim toward one of the tables. 

Tim doesn’t ask—wouldn’t compromise their mission like that, anyway—but his gaze is questioning. Jason, in turn, doesn’t reply directly; he just sits down, puts the dish away, and then hugs Tim from behind and pulls him down. 

Tim fits perfectly in his lap, just like Jason knew he would. His legs are forced to spread slightly by the sheer width of Jason’s thighs so his entire weight is resting on Jason, who takes it easily. He can only guess at the picture they make. People are looking. 

Time to give them a show. Jason lets his head tip forward. 

The skin of Tim’s neck is soft under his lips. Jason wants to stay there for a while, breathe in the smell of _Tim_ under the cologne. Instead, he moves, ghosting kisses down to Tim’s collar.

Tim shudders. It’s very convincing. Jason’s determined to have him react even more. 

He bites down. 

It’s like a chain reaction. Tim throws his head back and melts against him, a soft, breathy moan escaping his lips, and in turn, Jason can’t help but want to feel his breath under his fingers, his hand moving to rest on Tim’s stomach, which pulls them together closer, and it’s so good, it’s intoxicating, it’s—

“Maybe I can offer you a room?” 

Jason doesn’t look up—he lets Tim move just enough to do so, cheeks surely burning, hair disheveled, shirt rumpled…he needs to stop thinking about it—but he knows that their host has just approached them. 

“I’m sorry,” Tim mumbles. 

“Don’t be.” The man laughs. “Ah, to be young and in love… just go up the stairs, and my butler will show you the way.” 

Jason makes a show of getting up very, very reluctantly, pulling down his dinner jacket juuust enough to hint at him having something to hide. (He doesn’t. They’re both wearing cups.) 

“Thank you,” he says, and if his voice comes out rough, well, that just helps their cover. 

As they get up and walk toward the door, Jason gives into temptation and lets his hand wander lower, just to the top of Tim’s ass. When they discussed boundaries, Tim only said: “Do what’s necessary,” and Jason’s not sure it’s precisely _necessary_ , per se. 

Tim groans softly and hides his face against Jason’s chest. Jason wants to die, just a little. 

The butler greets them with perfect equanimity. It seems their host’s reputation as an enthusiastic supporter of young couples wasn’t exaggerated. 

Jason waits until they’re alone in the room, and then he lets Tim go. 

For a moment, there’s silence. Tim’s breathing is still quicker than usual, and Jason wonders why. Is he embarrassed, after all? Adrenaline? 

“We’re three doors down from the safe.” If Jason’s voice is still a bit rougher than usual, then at least his tone is professional and matter-of-fact. 

Tim looks up, and his eyes are calm and focused. “Balcony route still seems to be the easier one.” 

They had argued about that earlier, but now, Jason finds it easy to give in. “Alright, alright. After you.” 

They find the evidence they need without a problem and return to the gala appropriately sweaty and disheveled. 

The following day, Jason boards a spaceship. When he returns, Tim is in Kazakhstan for a mission, and the next time they see each other, they’re consummate professionals once again. It was just for the mission, after all. 

Jason tells himself that’s just fine with him. 

Three 

The decision to move to Star City is both easy and not. Bruce thinks Jason does it just to piss him off; in reality, Jason is far past that. He just wants to stay close to his friends (you know, the people that actually like him,) and they think a break from Gotham will be good for him. 

Does it feel weird purchasing an apartment and a couple of safehouses in another city while selling the ones in Gotham (apart from a spare or two)? Yes, it does. However, turns out it _is_ good for him. Jason didn’t realize how much Gotham’s darkness sunk into his bones until he’s out of it for a while. 

Life’s good. 

Of course, all those promises to keep in touch with his Gotham folks don’t amount to much. Jason doesn’t expect them to. All of them are really fucking busy, and he’s the one to leave them on read as often as the other way around. 

Tim, as always, proves to be an exception. Jason hasn’t even been in Star City for a week when he gets the first week: _how’s your new home?_

Home. Jason kinda likes that. It’s an acknowledgment that he’s moved for good, or at least for the foreseeable future, and that this isn’t just a temper tantrum. That’s probably why he texts back right away, completely ignoring the thug he was in the middle of tying up: 

_Same old but better weather._

_Not hard_ is what Tim replies. Jason thinks that’s it until his phone vibrates an hour later, and it’s a terribly photoshopped picture of Bruce’s head onto the body of a… lion? Jason’s not sure. 

_What’s that?_ he asks. 

_it’s a new meme_

_get with the times Jay_

Tim mercifully follows it up with a link to the press conference where Brucie Wayne rambled something about ‘being the leader of the pride,’ and Jason doesn’t stop laughing for a solid three minutes. 

The texts don’t stop. Tim’s not big on capitalization, but he apparently loves sharing random shit with Jason. Since they have the same sense of humor (“Dorky af,” according to Roy, “with a healthy dose of drama, puns, and Star Trek references.”), Jason likes seeing those messages, too. 

Problem is… Jason is kinda shit at replying to texts. Despite the time difference, Tim always responds to Jason’s messages within a few hours (even when he really, really shouldn’t, considering the time of day.) Jason, meanwhile… well. He means to a reply to a text, and then his oven dings or someone shoots at him, or he gets a visitor or has to leave for a mission or—yeah. All too often, he checks the chat six days later and finds that he hasn’t replied to Tim’s latest joke. 

Since he’s Jason, he never apologizes, just waits for the moment it’ll drive Tim away. It hasn’t come yet, but it will. 

Open lines of communications—as fragmented as they are—at least mean that, sometimes, they work together. Criminals don’t always stick to one coast, and there’s no-one in Gotham Jason trusts more than Tim. 

(Is that sad? Jason feels like that should be sad.) 

Today, they wrapped up one of these cases, video-calling just to make sure the other is uninjured. They are. It wasn’t an easy case, though. There were losses. Not to anyone they knew; that doesn’t make it better. 

“She must’ve known the head of the mafia doesn’t have the highest life expectancy,” Tim offers, not sounding as if he believes it himself. 

“Losing someone doesn’t get easier just because it’s to be expected.” Jason tries for a grin. “I should know.” 

On the screen, Tim doesn’t smile back. “Yeah. I… don’t know if I told you what I did when Kon died. Or, I guess, when I thought he did, but not like I knew that back then.” 

“No.” Jason tries to remember the year. He’s pretty sure he and Tim hadn’t been on speaking terms yet, after… 

Right. After trying to kill each other over Batman’s succession. 

“I tried to clone him.” 

“You fucking didn’t.” 

Tim’s laugh has no humor in it. “Uh-hu.” 

Jason is so close to making an ‘evil scientist’ joke. The look in Tim’s eyes stops him. “That must’ve fucking sucked.” 

“Yeah.” Something in Tim’s shoulder loosens. Jason wonders how many people the younger man has told about that. Then again, how many people did he speak to after news of Roy’s death?

He leans back. “What happened?” 

Tim tells him, and Jason talks about his own grief, in turn, and… and it feels _real_. The conversation transfers seamlessly into one about their family, famil _ies_ , to be honest; about childhood and purpose and the future neither of them knows. Jason doesn’t remember the last time he’s had a conversation where he doesn’t feel the need to insert a joke every five minutes. 

Maybe Roy is onto something with all that vulnerability shit. 

At some point, Jason even says: “I’m sorry. For everything I did to you.” 

And it feels easy, easy even before Tim smiles at him and shrugs it off as if he didn’t need to hear it to know Jason means it. Has meant it for a while now. 

As the night wears on, their topics get sillier and sillier. Jason is laughing at Tim’s story about having to get rid of some nosy neighbors by pretending he and his ‘girlfriend’ were really into exhibitionism and dirty talk—“I had to bribe Steph with so many milkshakes, but her impression of a girl saying ‘please hit me harder, daddy’ was worth it.”—when he looks outside and sees… daylight. 

“Holy fuck, it’s morning.” He glances at the clock. “Tim! It’s 9am at Gotham, what the fuck. Don’t you have work?” 

Tim shrugged. “I sent a text that I’d be late. CEO privileges, you know.” 

“How do you get more benefits in your legal job than I do as a mercenary?” Jason gives a dramatic sigh. “I’m due to meet Roy and a client in three hours, and one of us _has_ to show up.” 

“Lemme guess—won’t be Roy?” 

“Nope. He’s in Kuala Lumpur.” 

“Oh.” Tim giggles. “I see the problem, then.”

“Woe is me and all that.” 

“Hmm. Guess I should let you go, then.” 

That feels absurd to Jason, who’s pretty sure _he’s_ the one keeping _Tim_ up. “Yeah. Uh. Good night… I guess? Good morning?” 

“Have a good day?” Tim guesses, and they both laugh, eyes half-closing with tiredness. 

When Jason looks back at the screen, their eyes meet through the camera. 

Which. Is the _stupidest_ thing and kinda impossible—Tim can only be looking at the camera or Jason on the screen, and so can Jason in return; even Wayne Tech isn’t _that_ good—but that’s what it feels like. Two pairs of eyes meeting, and perfect understanding. 

Something’s welling up in Jason, something he’s been reluctant to give a name to. He’s just moved to Star City, and he likes it here. Tim is so far away. 

“Hey,” Jason says instead, “I liked this.” 

It still feels like giving away too much. The gorgeous smile rising on Tim’s face is worth it, though. “Yeah? We could make it a thing.” 

“Cool.” 

“Cool.” 

“Alright, I’m gonna hang up now, or we’re never getting to work,” Jason declares. “Have a nice nap, babybird.” 

Tim is still laughing when Jason hits’ end meeting for all participants.’ 

After that, they call each other at least once a week. Jason tries not to look forward to it so much.

Four 

“God, you really look like shit.” 

It’s maybe not the most tactful thing to say, but Jason has never been known for his great bedside manner. Besides, Tim is unconscious, so. 

He can’t move his gaze away from Tim’s face, not right now; he can’t let go of his hand, either, fingers resting against Tim’s thin wrist just to feel his pulse. 

It’s so fucking cliché, holding the hand of your almost lover as they’re injured. Jason’s not thinking about second chances, though. He’s thinking that he needs Tim to wake up so Jason can snark at him to his face. 

“Seriously, dude. I knew you’ve been running yourself ragged, but…” Jason’s voice trails off, and he shakes his head ruefully. 

The paleness of that face, the lines around the eyes, the dark bags underneath—those worry Jason almost more than Tim’s multiple stab wounds. Tim hasn’t been doing super well recently. His texts had become fewer and further apart, and he’d been quiet whenever they talked, unwilling to share what was going on with him. Jason’s kicking himself for not following his instincts and _making_ Tim talk. He was trying to wait Tim out and just look where that left them. 

A sharp inhale bursts the bubble of Jason’s self-recriminations. He watches as Tim tenses and opens his eyes, immediately trying to sit up from where he’s leaning against a stack of pillows. 

“Hey,” Jason soothes, “settle down, babybird. You’re alright. We’re at the manor.” 

He expects Tim to ask for water or to inquire about his attackers (a sure transfer to Arkham once they’ll be able to leave the ICU, where Damian graciously put them). Instead, a smile slowly grows on Tim’s face. “Jay?” 

“Yeah.” Jason squeezes his hand. “What do you need?” 

“You’re here.” There’s wonder in Tim’s voice and a question.

“Dunno if you noticed, but you got stabbed a shitload of times. Figured that would warrant a visit. Sorry, forgot to pick up flowers on the way,” Jason jokes. 

It doesn’t break the tension. “You came all the way from Star City,” Tim repeats. “For… me?” 

Abruptly, Jason has to take a deep breath just so he doesn’t do something stupid like yelling at Tim—or kissing him. Anything that’ll get it through his thick skull that Jason cared. 

“Listen,” he told him when he could speak, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here before, but I am now, alright? And I’ll always come if you ask.” 

_Please ask._

Jason can’t say it. The amazement in Tim’s eyes, the way he’s now clutching Jason’s hand, as if Jason is the one who almost left—it all says Tim hears it, anyway. Jason watches him open his mouth, and he has no idea what Tim will say, but he hopes… 

“Hey, babe, glad to see you’re—oh, hi.” 

A blonde man is standing at the door. He’s pretty tall and well-muscled, though Jason can see at a glance that he’s not a fighter, and he smiles at Jason uncertainly. 

“Uh, I don’t think we’ve met? My name’s Pete. I’m Tim’s boyfriend.” 

… Tim’s _what_. 

“Hi, Pete, nice to finally meet you,” Jason says, rolling with the punches. If the rest of the family was there, they’d wince at the tone of his voice. He only gets that fake-polite if he thinks about ripping someone’s throat out. “My name’s Jason.” 

“Oh! Tim’s adopted brother, right?” Pete claps his shoulder enthusiastically. “I’ve heard so much about you.” 

Somehow, Jason doubts that. 

Luckily, Pete doesn’t go into any more details about the information he supposedly has on Jason. He turns to Tim, instead, and asks solicitously: “How are you?” 

“I’m alright,” Tim says, shooting a warning glance at Jason. “Stupid accident. Maybe you were right about my bike.” 

“It’s a death trap.” Pete bends down to plant a kiss on Tim’s cheek as Jason tries not to wince. “I’m glad to see you awake, though. I was really worried when I got that call from your dad.” 

Tim smiles wanly. “Sorry.” 

When he straightens up, Pete gives Jason the strangest glance. Right. Jason is still holding Tim’s hands, which must be weird for Tim’s boyfriend. 

Tim’s boyfriend. 

Jason doesn’t like the feeling he gets at those words. He has _absolutely no right_ to be possessive over Tim, he reminds himself; he doesn’t get to feel hurt, either, when his _friend_ decides to have a romantic relationship. 

Tim breaks the silence. “Sorry, Pete, do you think you could ask Alfred to bring us some tea? I’ve been passed out for so long, I’m kinda starving.” 

Pete nods. “Of course, babe.” 

Jason tries not to wince at that. ‘Babe’ is just a little bit too close to ‘babybird’ for his taste. Maybe Jason should avoid that, now that Tim has someone else to give him that kind of affection.

So for the rest of his two-week stay, Jason calls Tim by his name or, at most, ‘Timmy,’ and tries not to notice how the younger man’s look of distaste. Pete turns out to be a nice enough guy, more willing to give Jason and Tim time together than Jason honestly would be in his position. Still, Jason can’t deny that he leaves Gotham with mixed feelings. 

When his plane lands, there’s a text from Tim waiting for him: _Thanks for coming. It means a lot to me._

Jason thinks about his reply the entire drive home. Granted, that’s only fifteen minutes (airport accessibility was an important factor in choosing this apartment). Still too long to think about one fucking message. It goes something like this: 

\- _Sorry I wasn’t there before_ \- too loaded, and anyway, he’s kinda already said that and is gonna say that again the next time they talk

\- _I just want you to be okay_ \- true but corny, and, right now, slightly unrealistic

\- _I’m thinking of moving back to Gotham_ \- waaaay too much, and also Jason will have to punch something out of anxiety if he can’t see Tim’s face when he tells him 

\- _Always_ \- too fucking corny

\- _*You* mean a lot to me_ \- what did he just think about being corny? 

In the end, he settles on _Sorry I wasn’t there to say goodbye to Pete._ Everything else can wait until their regular call in two days. 

Tim replies less than a minute later: _It’s OK, we broke up anyway_

If Jason didn’t like the feeling of possessiveness before, he _hates_ how happy that message makes him. That he’s a fuck-up of a human being isn’t anything new to him; he still thought he’s better than this. 

_I’m sorry._

He watches as Tim types. It takes too long for the three letters that finally appear. 

_nah_

That can’t be the whole response, so he waits another minute. Tim keeps typing. Finally: _decided I can’t be with someone who ultimately isn’t the most important person to me_

After the emotional rollercoaster of the last two weeks, Jason is pretty proud that all he replies with is: _Ah. Makes sense._

He doesn’t ask, still too caught up in self-loathing and guilt, but he does look up moving companies that same week. 

Five 

“Sure you don’t want me to help?” 

Jason snorts. “You broke both wrists, Roy. You’re not gonna be a lot of help moving boxes right now.” 

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Jason does actually pause at that and puts the box down. “It’ll be fine, Roy. It’s good to be here, but I’m not the same as I was when I left.” _Thank you._ “Besides. Tim will be here any minute.” 

Roy makes a gagging noise, which is rich coming from him. “Please don’t tell me I’m gonna have to listen to even more rhapsodies about Tim now.” 

“They’re not rhapsodies,” Jason corrects him sharply. “I just—“ 

“You’re right, you’re right. There’s too much love-lorn sighing for that. You’re not that great with words.” 

The doorbell rings. He’ll have to remember to give Tim a key later. Jason smiles to himself. They can do that now because they’re back to living in the same city. 

“You’re thinking something sappy,” Roy whispers. “I just know it.” And with that, he unceremoniously hangs up. 

Jason’s still shaking his head when he opens the front door. See if he ever listens to his friends’ love troubles again. 

To his surprise, three people are grinning at him, not one. Jason can’t remember inviting Dick and Cass. 

Of course, the third visitor is rather more important right now than the others. “Hey,” Tim says, already moving forward.

“Hey, babybird,” Jason replies, not moving backward. 

And maybe this should be more awkward—they’ve never hugged before, not if it wasn’t for the cameras or a mission, no matter how close they were—but it’s not. Jason opens his arms, and Tim readily steps into his embrace, hands coming up to rest on Jason’s back. 

Tim is still so much shorter than Jason. He might have acquired an athlete’s built in his twenties, but Jason can envelop him easily. They fit together perfectly. 

“Gee, nice to see you, too, Jason,” Dick jokes when they finally pull apart. “Way to greet your helpers.” 

Jason, frankly, doesn’t give a shit. “Hi, Dick.” Then, slightly nicer: “Hi, Cass, good to see you.” 

“They insisted on tagging along,” Tim mumbles under the cover of their laughter. “Sorry.” 

Dick hears him, of course. He doesn’t look offended, though. His hand claps Jason’s shoulder. “Of course we did. We’re family, right?” Next to him, Cass nods. 

Eeeeh. Kinda? The accurate answer would be, “I barely know the two of you anymore and the third ‘sibling’ present is the one guy I occasionally dream about marrying.” 

Jason’s not nineteen anymore, though, so he smiles and says: “Thanks,” and even sorta means it. He appreciates that it’s a political move and a signal to Bruce, anyway. 

Between the four of them, the van Jason ranted is quickly empty. Why he’s not comfortable having Dick or Cass handle any of his more personal items—his sex toy collection is somewhere in one of the boxes marked ‘bedroom’—he’s fine having them set up the living room, bathroom, and the weapons storage. Cass even compliments him on some of his swords, which is one hell of a high; Jason isn’t gonna lie. 

When they’re done, he tries to invite them to pizza. Dick and Cass wave him off. 

“Patrol is in an hour. If I eat pizza now, I’m gonna be known as Gaswing,” Dick jokes. 

Jason feels his face scrunch up in distaste. “Thanks, I just remembered why I didn’t miss Gotham at all.” 

“If _that’s_ what does it, then you’ve been out of the game for far too long.” Dick grabs his coat and throws Cass hers. Tim, though, just stays where he is: Lounging on the couch, pretending to unpack Jason’s books while actually flipping through his comics collection. 

“Aren’t you heading out?” Jason asks Tim, but it’s Dick who answers. 

“Timmy here traded Damian for his weekend off. Must’ve been something really important happening…” 

“Dick.” Tim’s blushing, just a little; it doesn’t stop him from glaring daggers at Dick, who shrugs it off with all the practiced casualness of an older brother. 

“Just saying. Alright, time to get going. Don’t be a stranger, Jason.” 

“See ya, Dick.” Jason gives a wave. “Thanks, Cass.” 

She smiles and slips out after Dick. Both of them take the window exit. Typical. 

When he’s sure they’re gone, Jason looks at Tim. The younger man is already looking more relaxed. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“Duh.” Tim shrugs. “Guess I wanted to.” 

Jason has to hug him again for that, just briefly, just because he can. When he pulls back, he says: “Then _I_ guess I owe you an extra-large pizza. Thuna and onions, no olives?” 

“How the fuck do you know my pizza order?” Tim asks as he watches Jason pull out his phone and enter his info into the delivery app. 

“Tim, you eat almost nothing else whenever we talk. How the fuck you stay in shape, I have no idea.” 

“Honestly, me neither. Add a coke while you’re at it, actually.” 

“I thought you were limiting your caffeine intake.” 

“I’m limiting my _coffee_ intake.” 

“Unbelievable,” Jason sighs. “Alright, go wash your hands. We got thirty minutes before the food gets here, and I do wanna get started on those books.” 

“I’m not even gonna ask why I need to wash my hands for that.” 

“Good boy.” 

They eat their pizzas on the balcony, watching the sun set over DeKorte park. 

The neighborhood is posher than he’s used to, and he’s already caught some snooty glances from his new neighbors when he was carrying boxes inside in his sweatpants and a t-shirt. The view makes it worth it. 

“I like this,” Tim finally says, nudging his shoulder against Jason. 

Jason blinks. Suddenly, he remembers another rooftop, Tim sitting next to him, too close, too far away. 

How far they’ve come since then. 

“The pizza or the view?” 

“I meant the apartment, though I’m not gonna argue about those two.” 

“It’s pretty alright, yeah.” Jason thinks contently of all the space for bookshelves. “Except for the lack of Internet, of course.” Fucking cable company. Their extra data gift to help bridge the time is all nice and good for Civilians, but Jason’s not your average network user. 

“You know, you can always stay in my spare room.” 

Tim isn’t looking at him. 

“As a temporary base of operations?” Jason asks without thinking cause his mouth still hasn’t learned to wait for his brain. 

Tim sags into himself slightly. Jason doesn’t know if it’s relief or disappointment until he hears: “Sure. Yeah. That.” 

Oh. So Tim meant… did he? Could he? Is this Tim’s version of ‘wanna come upstairs for a cup of coffee?’ Surely not? 

Once again, Jason is overthinking this, though for different reasons than a decade ago. 

He doesn’t want to _fuck_ Tim. 

Or, well, that’s not entirely true. Of course he wants to fuck Tim—be fucked, too, preferably, or kissed, or touched, or anything that his mind makes up at night when he’s not seeing anyone and needs to get relief. Jason has dreamed of the taste of Tim’s lips, of the smell of his hair, of the weight of his cock in Jason’s hand or mouth; he’s imagined time and time again how Tim would feel on top of him, holding Jason down, or below him, those slim legs wrapped around Jason’s waist. Jason wants it all. 

However, over the years, more and more layers have been added. Jason’s honest enough that he’s had a bit of a crush even before Tim asked him out back then—it just took that to make him aware of it. The longer he knows Tim, the deeper these feelings get. 

Jason loves knowing that Tim exists. It’s as simple as that. Anything more than that—friendship, the chance at a relationship, maybe—feels like a gift. 

It’s just been so, so long. 

“I might take you up on that, babybird,” he murmurs, nudging Tim’s shoulder just to see that smile return. 

Jason’s twenty-eight and has never had a serious relationship in his life, and here’s the guy he’s been thinking about for a decade, smiling at him as if he loves him, and Jason has no idea where to start. 

One

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

On the screen, Gotham’s hot new reality show (all about exploring new things together a couple) plays on, unaware of the Drama it caused in Tim’s living room just two minutes before. 

_I’d date you if you wanted me to,_ Jason casually remarked when Tim laughingly complained that he had no one to take there. There aren’t enough formatting options in the world to underline the disbelief with which Tim echoed back: “If _**I**_ wanted _**you**_ to?” 

Now, Jason looks confused. Adorably so, Tim would usually think; right now, all he wants to do is to bash his pretty fucking head in. 

“I asked you out so many times!” 

And oh, Tim’s voice is rising. Tim almost doesn’t recognize the signs in himself; he gets angry so rarely. Yet, here he is, heart beating rapidly, face flushed, hands curled into fists, yelling at the guy he’s been in love with for decades because Jason returns his feelings. 

It’s not exactly the most logical reaction in the world. Tim can’t help but continue, anyway: “Like, never mind as a teenager, what about me taking you out to dinner last month so we can eat French food and watch the sunset didn’t you understand? All you said was,’ none of my other friends feed _me_.’ I can take a fucking hint.” 

“That wasn’t—“Confusion morphs into defensiveness. “How was I supposed to know that’s what you meant? Sunsets _happen_ , Tim; not everyone who sees one is on a date! And the food was really good.” 

“Yeah, it was, but what about the hugging? _The cuddling?_ I’m not exactly a touchy-feely person, Jason; how did you think—“ 

“I thought you _trusted_ me,” Jason interrupts him firmly. “I wasn’t going to squander that.” 

“Squander? I asked you—I asked you if you _want to be my date to a gala._ That was last week!” 

Jason throws up his hands, expression somewhere between sheepish and annoyed. “We do that all of the time!” 

And finally, Tim has to laugh. 

“Exactly, Jay.” He rubs a hand over his face, somewhere between exasperated and lightheaded. “We do that all the time. How the fuck do you not…” He trails off.

“I said yes every time but the first, didn’t I?” 

At that, it’s like Tim finally finds the on-switch for his brain again cause Jason—Jason doesn’t look at him as if Tim has told him something new. The older man has been going through a rainbow of emotions in front of Tim’s eyes those last few minutes; none of them was surprise that Tim’s in love with him. 

Jason looks at him as if he’s lost. As if Tim is the only way out of a burning warehouse. As if Jason has no idea what to do next, no idea how they got here, no idea how to handle any of _this._ That’s when Tim gets it. 

And Tim — Tim takes that step. Reaches his hand, full of burn scars, once again out to the flame.

“Oh, Jay.” Tim reaches out by instinct, hands finding Jason’s hips as if they’ve always rested there. “How long have you been stuck?” 

Jason exhales. 

His right hand comes up, gently tracing Tim’s face. Tim can feel it brush along his temple, his cheek, his nose before Jason’s cupping his jaw. It’s difficult not to lean into it, close his eyes. He wants to keep watching Jason’s face. 

“Years,” Jason finally whispers. “At least. Feels like forever.” 

“It’ll be okay.” Tim steps closer, gently pulls Jason toward him. When he continues, the words are breathed against the rough skin of Jason’s jaw. “Whatever we do, it’ll be okay. I’ll show you. Or—we’ll find out together.” 

Jason shudders and relaxes beautifully for him, pulling Tim in, hand on his head, hand on his back, until they can barely breathe and yet feel freer than they have in years. 

They don’t have sex, not then. Tim’s not surprised. As much as he wants to jump Jason’s bones at the earliest available occasion, this is more important. 

After all, Tim knew that Jason wanted him—wants him—back when they went on that undercover mission and the other man had him moan like whore in front of high society. (And God, actually, yeah, they should move the necking kissing reenactment into a high-priority slot.) It took him longer to figure out that Jason _likes_ him as a person, as who he actually is, even when Tim’s still figuring that out for himself. 

What he didn’t know is that Jason loves him. 

When Jason leads him to bed—when he gently pushes Tim to get changed, but follows right behind him, as if he can’t bear not be touching; when they settle down in boxers cause everything else feels like too much work; when he pulls Tim on top of him as soon as they lie down; when he whispers: “I dreamt about doing this,” and kisses the scar on Tim’s neck—that’s what it’s about. About love. About _being_ loving, and openly so, not hidden beneath layers and layers of affection and care and friendship, but on top of them. 

Tim goes boneless on top of Jason and sighs contently. God, their size difference is so nice sometimes. This is comfy. He doesn’t think he can go to sleep right now, his body is still thrumming with energy, but this is good, this is—

“I love you.” 

…so apparently, hearing it out loud is a whole other ballgame than hearing it implied. 

It’s just a lot to take in, okay? This morning, Tim woke up in a reality where Jason was his best friend, his confidant, the person he had so many tightly-knotted feelings about that he could barely keep them straight on any given day, and now… now… Tim doesn’t… 

It’s a simple thing with a simple answer. He needs to stop panicking and reply, or Jason will take this the wrong way; Tim’s about to fuck this up before it’s even started— 

Jason’s arms don’t tense around him, though. When Tim looks up, Jason’s face is utterly calm, secure in himself. “No need to say it back,” he tells Tim, “just wanted to say it. Kinda looked like you needed to hear it.” 

Tim stares at him.

_Oh_. It looks like the Detective was the last one to figure something out, this time, and the One Who Takes Action the last one to do something about it. 

Something in Tim cracks wide open. “I almost moved to Star City for you.” 

Jason’s eyes widen. 

“It’s crazy, I know, I just—I couldn’t give up hope.” Tim laughs. There’s no humor in it. 

Jason’s hand comes up, cupping the side of Tim’s neck, this time, and Tim leans into it even as he keeps talking: “Everyone was—was laughing at me. They all know, Jason.”

“Shh,” Jason tries, but Tim can’t stop talking. 

“I had such a _crush_ on you as a Robin. Like, before you died, Jay.” 

Jason’s eyes widen. “Didn’t know you even knew me.” 

“I didn’t, not really,” Tim admits, and somehow that makes it worse. He was a fanboy, then, a stalker, shallow enough to fall in love with a bright smile and a mean sense of humor. “And after, I—I knew I needed to move on; they all told me, they all know how _stupid_ I was—hell, I told that to myself, and I just—I couldn’t, Jason, I could never stop loving you—“

“Thank you,” Jason interrupts, and he’s—he’s smiling? “Thank you for not giving up on me.” 

Tim starts crying. Not a lot, just a bit, enough to make him look splotchy and ugly and terrible and—Jason still looks at him as if Tim is beautiful. He listens to these things Tim has been ashamed of for years, and he treats them as gifts. 

“Sorry,” Tim finally sniffs, ineffectually wiping at his eyes. “That—that was a lot.” 

Jason shakes his head. His voice is matter-of-fact: “Nothing to apologize for, babybird.” 

And. 

“I love it when you call me that,” Tim whispers the last piece of his shame, “and I hated it cause it didn’t mean what I wanted it to.” 

Except, maybe, it did. How’s Tim supposed to deal with that? 

“Oh, Tim,” Jason whispers, a perfect mirror to the voice Tim used earlier. Jason doesn’t follow it up with any words, though—he just pulls Tim closer and presses a soft kiss to his forehead. 

Tim closes his eyes and wills himself not to start crying again. 

When he opens them again, blinking, Jason’s grinning, but in that way Tim’s let himself become used to—soft, not mean. 

“Hey, babybird?” 

“Hmm?” 

“I love you.” 

Tim can feel himself blush. Goddammit, he thought he’d be over that stupid habit at this age. “You don’t have to repeat it.” 

Jason’s grin transforms from ‘tender’ into ‘shit-eating.’ “I want to, though. Cause I love you.” 

Tim groans and wiggles down to hide his face (burning) in Jason’s shoulder again. “I take it all back. You’re a cheeseball.” 

“A cheeseball that loves you.” 

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” 

“Alright, alright. Good night.”

“Night.”

“Love you.” 

“Love you, too,” Tim murmurs back, and Jason falls quiet, his chest steadily rising and falling underneath Tim’s hands. Tim feels a hair slide into his hair—not playing, just holding—and somehow, it’s easy to fall asleep. 

The next morning, Tim wakes up alone. It would worry him more if a) he wasn’t a zombie before 10am and b) Jason hadn’t done this every single time he slept over on Tim’s couch before. 

Tim takes his time, therefore, taking a quick shower and brushing his teeth according to his usual routine. He guesses he doesn’t need to hurry, and he’s proven right when he finds Jason cheerfully complaining to himself while rummaging through Tim’s fridge. The older man looks up in the middle of a monologue about the proper storage of cold meats and grins at Tim. 

(Jason, of course, is a morning person. Tim has no idea why he ever fell in love with him.) 

“Morning, babybird.” Jason drops a quick kiss on his cheek—darting forward as if he had to steal that—and hands Tim a steaming mug of coffee in the same breath. 

God, they’re such a fucking cliché. 

Does that stop Tim from sappily smiling back and mumbling, “Good morning?” No, it doesn’t. 

“Drink your coffee and go turn into a human,” Jason laughs. “I’m making an omelet.” 

(Right. That’s why.) 

Breakfast is, of course, lovely. Tim remembers Jason trying to cook for the two of them when he was in his early twenties, and it had been pretty good, then, at least to Tim’s uneducated palate. Now, though, Jason is utterly confident in the kitchen, and the omelet he serves is the perfect mix of salty, soft, and sweet. 

They eat in comfortable silence. 

Tim’s always liked that about Jason. The other man is only an ass when he wants to be. He might like to tease Tim about his morning state, but he never actually asks him to do anything more than be vaguely present and eat what’s in front of him. In turn, Tim takes care not to disturb Jason’s sleep at night, no matter how ridiculously early; he knows any rest is hard-earned. 

They eat, they drink coffee, and slowly, Tim can feel himself tense up. 

The thing is: This is the point where Jason will usually be itching to get back to his own apartment and change into some fresh clothes. 

And Jason _is_ fidgeting; Tim can tell. Even apart from the clothing issue, it’s pretty late for the other man to start the day. Both of them have cases waiting for their attention, and all of Red Hood’s stuff is at Jason’s place. 

It’s fine. They can go their separate ways. There’s no reason for Tim to want to keep Jason close, for him to be afraid that _something_ will happen if Jason leaves. 

Except that’s exactly what’s happening. It’s utterly fucking stupid, but Tim doesn’t want to let go yet. 

Jason looks up from his long-empty plate and says: “I don’t want to leave.” Then he scrunches up his face and adds: “Like, I’m dying to get some clothes and yours won’t fit, but. I don’t want to leave.” 

Tim laughs. For a moment, Jason looks hurt; then, he seems to recognize the relief in Tim’s face because he chuckles along.

“We can spend the day at your place,” Tim finally suggests. It would be a bit of an inconvenience since he’s been running some samples in his spare room, but whatever, they can wait. 

Jason shakes his head, though. “Nah, your couch is bigger, and all I need to do today is some serious casefile reading. I’ll pick up my stuff and come pack?” 

“I’ll come with you,” Tim immediately offers, and then they’re laughing again cause they’re ridiculous, aren’t they? 

Jason doesn’t say no, though. Tim thinks he’s earned smiling like a schoolgirl on her second date when Jason holds his hand for the entire walk. 

Once they’re at Jason’s apartment, Tim watches Jason gather his stuff, which takes about seven minutes, and then his books, which takes considerably longer. “We’ll need a bigger apartment for all these books.” 

Apparently, this is how it’ll be now: both of them daring to say the things they think, turning turns until it’s no longer necessary, until saying it out loud is as natural as breathing. 

Jason drops his book (which, wow, that’s a declaration if Tim’s ever seen one) and crowds him against the wall, kissing Tim so thoroughly that they’re both out of breath by the time he pulls back, and yeah, sex is definitely happening sooner rather than later. 

“You make me so fucking happy,” Jason says, and Tim—Tim, who barely manages to make himself happy on a good day—Tim smiles, and kisses him, and takes him home. 


End file.
